


The Scars Words Leave

by shipityouwill



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Grantaire Angst, M/M, Self Harm, and enjolras unknowingly well kinda knowingly hurting him a lot, but they figure it out!, fyi grantaire the one self harming in this, grantaire generally being the biggest asshole to himself, i hope i mean who knows with these two, in case you missed the memo, self hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4381364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipityouwill/pseuds/shipityouwill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has been cutting himself since he was sixteen. Because the fact of the matter is that he’s a piece of shit-he’s always known that-so why not treat his body like the shit it is? He hides it from the Amis, until one day Enjolras snaps and Grantaire realizes he has nothing left to lose. Cue Grantaire hiding out in his apartment and Enjolras seeking him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well Shit

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at three thirty in the morning. It hasn't been beta read, and I proof read it as I went. Feel free to point out any errors in my writing.

Grantaire has been cutting himself since he was sixteen. Because the fact of the matter is that he’s a piece of shit-he’s always known that-so why not treat his body like the shit it is?

He’s stopped for a while, after meeting the Amis, because with how touchy they are they couldn’t _not_  come across the scars. Couldn’t _not_  think of him differently if they knew.

But then he started indulging himself in the wonder that is Enjolras. Enjolras, whose words only ever made any real sense when he was yelling at Grantaire and telling him what a useless piece of shit he is.

And Grantaire? _Grantaire thrives off it._   Every _What you think doesn’t matter_  and  _Don’t bother coming_   and _You’re useless_  is stored away for later, when he can appreciate the words with a blade dragging across his skin.

So he wears jeans and sweatshirts when he’s with the Amis and keeps provoking Enjolras until-

“Get out.”

“What?” And Grantaire’s head perks up from where he’s seated at the bar, nursing a beer. He hadn’t been looking at Enjolras while they argued, hadn’t seen the point. But now he looks. And Enjolras is _fuming_. His skin is bright red and Grantaire is sure smoke would be coming out of his ears if that were even possible. And if the strained look on Combeferre face hadn’t been enough to warn him that he was in trouble, the hand now gripping his collar was.

“I told you to leave,”Enjolras grits through his teeth, and stops to regain his composure. Grantaire closes his eyes for a brief moment to commit the moment to memory.

And then the hand is gone and Enjolras is back sitting between a mildly horrified Marius and a frazzled Combeferre.

“But-” And now it’s Grantaire’s turn to stop himself from flipping his shit. _Because what the fuck?_ This isn’t how it works. Enjolras calls Grantaire worthless, calls him useless and then returns to being slightly annoyed and Grantaire goes home afterwards and finds a clear stop to cut. And this- This is not following the script. “Why?”

“You have no place being here. You’re a cynic, you don’t believe in a word we say, do you? Your one purpose is to add a pessimistic twist to everything I say, except- No. You serve no purpose,”Enjolras says quietly, which makes it so much worse. Grantaire wishes he’d explode again. Wishes he’d grab and poke and spit and not just _sit there._ “You’re worthless.”

And Grantaire realizes he’s pushed too far. That Enjolras means every single thing he’s said. He realizes there will be no more meetings, and getting Enjolras to scream and raise his voice is no longer something he’ll be receiving.

And he realizes one last thing: He has nothing left to lose.

So Grantaire hops off his stool, walks past a nearly-in-tears Jehan and a shaken Courfeyrac and stops at the door. He stares down at his Converse for a moment before sighing and rolling up his sleeves.

Grantaire turns slowly and bares his arms to Enjolras. He watches the expression of Enjolras’s face shift from anger to confusion, to something Grantaire can’t place.

“I know,”Grantaire says, and lowers his gaze. “I really do.”

And he leaves.

He ignores Courf’s shouting in the distance, and walks the three miles to his shithole of a flat, content. He doesn’t bother locking his door and when he pulls out his razor, doesn’t bother lowering the blinds to his bedroom.

Grantaire cuts because of Enjolras, but this time is… different. He cuts a trail across his torso, and the his arm and then his legs and he ignores all the vibrations coming from his phone because  _he just can’t_.

He only stops when he head starts to hurt and he realizes he’s crying and his hands are shaking.

So he goes and does what he always does. He takes an icy shower and pretends it doesn’t hurt to breathe. He let the blood run down his thighs and down the drain. Grantaire gets out, and doesn’t bother putting on anything other than a pair of briefs before he climbs into bed and waits for it to blow over.

 

But the thing is- it doesn’t blow over. Grantaire wakes up to seventeen missed calls from the Amis and thirty texts. He curses thinking about what his phone bill is going to look like.

Grantaire looks about the bedroom, and is very thankful that he doesn’t have a flatmate. Because this? This is a fucking disaster. There are blood stains on the carpet and broken razors. The empty bottles of beer strewn about the room don’t do much to help the image, either.

He climbs out of bed and thanks his lucky stars he doesn’t have work at the museum today. His entire body hurts and looks horrible. Grantaire honestly doesn’t want to look in the mirror, but he supposes he kind of has to be get to his toothbrush.

And yeah, he was right, he looks like shit. The bags under his eyes are nearly twice as big as they normally are, which is saying something. His hair lies in flat curls from all the sweat and he pulls it into a top knot before brushing his teeth.

Knowing he can’t lose any more pride than he already has, he checks his phone.

 

**Jehan :p**

_Grantaire?_  

 

**Jehan :p**

_Grantaire are you alright?_  

 

**Jehan :p**

_Please answer your phone, we’re all worried about you._

 

There are several more from him along the same lines, so Grantaire switches to all the ones from Joly. They’re the same thing, only in a panicky format that is so Joly it hurts. He doesn’t bother ready Ferre or Courf’s texts, and only really realizes what he’s done when he look at Enjolras’s text.

 

**Apollo**

_If you don’t answer your phone by the end of the night I am coming over. I know you don’t have work, Feuilly told me; Don’t try avoiding me. I’ll be there at ten._

 

And, well, _shit_ , because it’s 9:47 and Grantaire throws on some jeans and a t-shirt/sweater combo. He scrambles to throw his razors in the cabinet under his sink just in case Enjolras comes in his room. He thrown the bottles scattered across his flat in the trash bin he should really empty. He sprays the Febreze Eponine picked up for him frantically throughout the flat to cover the smell of stale booze and blood, and _it isn’t working_. By the time Enjolras gets there’s Grantaire is halfway to a panic attack. 

The rasp at the door stops him in his tracks. He debates getting the door, and realizes Enjolras knows he wouldn’t be anywhere else.

He opens the door to a slumped over Enjolras, who, for once in his life, looks like absolute shit. His eyes are bloodshot and there are heavy bags under his eyes. Grantaire doesn’t need to ask to know he hasn’t slept all night.

“Hi,”Grantaire manages, and goddamn it, _c_ _an he not fuck something up for once?_   Because Enjolras literally grimaced the moment he opened his mouth.

“Hi.” Enjolras stops for a moment, staring intently at the door with a face of pure confusion. Grantaire isn’t sure what to do with that. Enjolras is… Enjolras is very sure of himself. Everything he says is precise. _Knowing_. Hell, the text he sent Grantaire was more sure of itself than Grantaire’s ever been in his life.  But the Enjolras standing outside his door looks like he wants to run away.

“I’m assuming you want to come in,”Grantaire reaffirms. Enjolras refuses to meet his glance but nods anyway, following Grantaire in when he opens the door.

 


	2. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk. There. That's it. Well, that's most of what happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse my poor writing, I wrote this after a really long day of Alice and Wonderland rehearsal. Well... I wrote part of this during rehearsal, but my director doesn't need to know that.

_“I’m assuming you want to come in,”Grantaire reaffirms. Enjolras refuses to meet his glance but nods anyway, following Grantaire in when he opens the door._  

 

Grantaire falls back onto the sofa, leaving the invitation open for Enjolras. For a moment, he thinks Enjolras is going to bolt out the open door, but he doesn’t. He pushes it closed slowly, regaining his composure, and sits on the other side of the tiny sofa, twisted towards Grantaire.

 

“So,”Grantaire says, at a loss for words. He’s never been good with words, unless they’re point is to piss people off. _That_   he’s very good at. “What brings you here?”

 

There’s an underlying _Why do you give a shit about me?_ in his stare. Enjolras holds his gaze and his face morphs into that ugly grimace he had at the Musain. And,  _oh my God_ , it’s guilt. Enjolras thinks this is his fault, which no, it’s not. Well… Grantaire doesn’t actually know.

 

“I came to make sure you weren’t…”Enjolras starts. “I came here to make sure you were alright. You weren’t answering your phone; Joly nearly had a panic attack in the Musain, and Jehan… We were worried. _I_  was worried about you, Grantaire.”

 

Grantaire stares down at his lap, because  _wow, his jeans suddenly became really interesting_. “I’m sorry I made everyone worry. I won’t be a problem anymore, I promise.” Grantaire looked up to hold Enjolras’s gaze. “I’m not coming back, so don’t worry about it.”

 

Enjolras shifts forward on the tiny sofa, his thigh pushing against Grantaire’s own. “Why not?”

 

“ _You_  told me not to. You said,”Grantaire grits, and he can feel himself becoming angry, "And I quote, _‘You have no place being here.'_  And you were right, Enjolras. I’m a cynic. The only thing we ever achieve when I’m there is making you upset.”

 

“But you always point out the flaws in what I say,”Enjolras urges. His hand slides across the back of the sofa, and Grantaire can feel the ghost of Enjolras’s fingers scaling down his neck. “No one else does that. You remember when you pointed out the errors in our letter to the Board of Education?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“ _Yeah,_ and I was pissed, sure, because I hadn’t even considered what you’d said when I wrote it. And you remember how we rewrote it, and _you very the reason it even went through?_ ” Enjolras sighs. “Look, I was upset; I didn’t mean to be as harsh as I was. Please don’t let this change anything.”

 

Grantaire snorts, and pushes himself off the couch. _Enjolras just doesn’t get it._  “I’m not upset about you yelling at me, Enjolras. If I got hurt that easily I would’ve stopped coming.”

 

“So what’s the problem?”Enjolras asks. He pushes himself up and walks towards Grantaire, only a foot between them now. “Why won’t you come back?”

 

“ _You saw what I did, Enjolras,_  before I left,”Grantaire whispers. He goes to lower his head and bumps against Enjolras’s shoulder. He breathes slowly, trying to urge the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes to _stop_. “I can’t go back there.”

 

“No one is going to think of you differently, Grantaire,”Enjolras murmurs into his hair. Grantaire snorts, and he can feel Enjolras frown into his hair. “I’m serious.”

 

“I’m a smoking, alcoholic cynic, Enjolras.” He raises his head, painfully avoiding the damp spot he left on Enjolras’s shirt. “And now, _boom,_  the secret’s out. _I cut myself._  There’s only so much shit people can handle.”

 

“Grantaire, _I love you_ , we’re not just going to turn our backs on you-”

 

“What?” Grantaire says harshly, backing himself away.

 

“What?”Enjolras copies. He takes a step forward, unknowingly backing Grantaire all the way up against the wall.

 

“You said you loved me,”Grantaire states, like it makes any sense. _Enjolras, love someone like him?_  It’s ludicrous. Grantaire’s used to the unrequited love, was content to let it run it’s course. Enjolras isn’t supposed to love him back; that’s not how this works. But then again, with the way things have been going-

 

“I do,”Enjolras says, and  _o_ _h_. His face softens and he back away, ready to face rejection. Like he believes Grantaire would ever refuse him.  _Which makes literally no sense._

 

“I do,”Grantaire says quickly, after a moment of deafening silence. “Love you, I mean. I love you. You’re not fucking with me, right?”

 

Enjolras looks at Grantaire in confusion, like he can’t believe it either. Like he truly thinks Grantaire is worthy of his mere presence.  _Worthy of his love._

  
“I’m not,”Enjolras confirms, and Grantaire doesn’t even see Enjolras move, but sure enough he’s pressed up against the wall of his apartment, Enjolras’s warm- _God, so warm-_  mouth against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to this (http://8tracks.com/beccasaur/there-will-be-tears-today) while I wrote, because I'm angsty musical theatre trash. My 8tracks is sopranosinging, and my tumblr is sopranosingingalto.tumblr.com   
> Feel free to come talk to me! Or don't, that cool too. Whatever your cool with, person reading fanfiction about characters who were created in the 1800s.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not finished yet, but I hope you enjoy what I've put up so far. You can find me at sopranosingingalto.tumblr.com  
> I listened to a lot of different playlists while I wrote this but this (http://8tracks.com/sledges/how-about-no) is the one I ended with. Have some musical trash. My 8tracks is sopranosinging so feel free to look at the stuff I've listened to. Night y'all.


End file.
